Back when I was gainfully employed, I used to travel fairly often, four or five times a year to interesting cities all around the United States. I enjoyed it, particularly after my son was old enough to take care of himself. I was lucky enough to see almost all of the major US cities (except Philadelphia; for some reason, my travels never took me there).

Since I’ve retired, I travel by plane very infrequently. Even less frequently as of late, as we mostly travel to Arizona and back by car. Even when we visit Chicago, we usually drive so that we have use of a car while we’re there. I have always found road trips fun as well.

After flying this past weekend from Phoenix to Denver and back again, I have decided that travel by plane is no longer ANY FUN AT ALL. It seems to get worse every time I fly.

I don’t doubt that any of these inconveniences are all for my safety, and I try to be patient. But it really does get so tedious.

For one thing, every airport is different. At some airports you only have to have your photo I.D. out when you go through initial security; for some, you need it all the way through the security process. In some airports, having a tissue in your pocket isn’t cause for alarm; in others, a tissue can bring the entire security process to a grinding halt.

The TSA officers at Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix seem very chipper. Perhaps it’s the warm weather or the sunshine. The TSA officers in Denver – at least the ones I encountered in yesterday’s travel – are decidedly crankier. Hence, the near meltdown because I made the mistake of not taking the tissue out of my pants pocket. She actually seemed to take it personally. And it was even clean.

But I know they are all just trying to keep me safe, so I grin and bear it, even if it means nearly disrobing.

My sister Jen, by the way, almost always has to go through a manual pat down when she flies – something about the animal appliques on her dangerous-looking sweaters and the shifty look in her eyes. Last time the TSA officers discarded a $20 jar of cream she was bringing for her daughter because it was 4.2 oz. instead of 4 oz. Sigh.

But I enjoyed my $18 breakfast at the airport restaurant and had fun watching moms and dads trying to keep their toddlers from escaping their parentage. Travel with kids is never easy.

And speaking of that, as I stood in line to give the agent my ticket with all the rest of the passengers, I began trying to decide who I would rather sit next to: the woman with the cough that never ceased, the couple with the screaming baby, or the woman traveling with her Chihuahua in her carry-on bag? After careful consideration, I gave it to the baby. At least he was cute, unlike either the hacking woman or the Chihuahua.

As it turned out, I ended up by none of the above, and had a fairly pleasant flight.

Three things: 1) I enjoyed my time in Denver immensely, and will certainly do it every year when in Arizona; 2) I’m glad to be back home with Bill; and 3) the photo of the crying baby above is an actual picture of my almost-always-cheerful grandbaby Micah, who will be very unhappy about this photo when it is shown at his wedding in 25 years. It was not taken during a plane ride, though my understanding is that the last time they flew from Vermont to Denver, this was pretty much how he looked!